


Surveillance/Overlook

by blacktop



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktop/pseuds/blacktop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Fusco's latest assignment results in a long day and night on his feet.  Tailing Reese -- and gathering a few clues to this mystery man's private life -- is not a job for the meek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surveillance/Overlook

No matter how many times it happened, the rude buzz against his waist startled him. Fusco flicked open the phone and felt the anxiety rise within him.

“Detective Fusco, your following me was amusing at first, but it has increasingly become an annoying burden. I think we need to consider finding you other forms of occupation.”

Fusco bristled at the insinuating tone of the little man on the other end. How did he know he was being shadowed? 

Fusco was pretty sure he had never been spotted, even that time when Finch stopped rather abruptly in his nightly wanderings and turned into a tiny chocolate shop. Fusco had almost allowed the intoxicating fragrances to draw him inside and he did pause for an extra moment to savor them but he was sure that Finch, who was bending over the glass counter, saw nothing. No point in admitting anything until he found out exactly what Finch knew and wanted.

When Fusco said nothing, Finch continued, “If I reveal to Mr. Reese that I know you have been following me for the past two weeks, he will be quite disappointed in your performance. I am sure you do not want Mr. Reese to be disappointed in you, do you, Detective?”

“No.” The less he admitted the better.

“So, I have a proposition for you, Detective. I want you to keep track of Mr. Reese’s whereabouts. For the past several days, he has been surprisingly diligent in avoiding my scrutiny. I want you to correct that.”

“Wait, you want me to tail Reese for you? Are you kidding? That spook can sniff out a tail from a mile away. He knows all the tricks in the book and some chapters that ain’t been written yet. No way I’m crossing him.” He sounded childish even to himself.

“Alright, then you leave me no choice, Detective Fusco. I see Mr. Reese tomorrow morning and at that time I will reveal exactly what I know about your little investigation. I will have Mr. Reese put a stop to your activities one way or another, be sure of that.”

The threat sounded all the more frightening because the voice delivering it was so cool and detached.

Fusco made up his mind quickly.

“OK, OK. Unknot your knickers, already. Where is Reese now? I can start right away.” His ex was picking up Lee after band practice and she had him for the night, so the coast was clear.

“A wise decision, Detective.”

 

Finch gave him Reese’s current coordinates and Fusco quickly made his way by taxi to the designated location.

++++++

 

Following Reese wasn’t all that tough, the guy stood out like a sore thumb on every street he walked. 

Since the tailing was so easy, Fusco found it entertaining to watch the reactions of the people who passed Reese. Most men shuffled to one side as if even grazing his coat would offend the wearer and start a fight they had no hope of winning. A few of the bolder ones squared their shoulders, flung their heads back, and clenched their jaws as if spoiling for a scuffle. Fusco was half hoping Reese would oblige those assholes.

Predictably, the women took a different approach. Some widened their eyes, others raised their brows, occasionally there was a fluttering hand brushing back invisible stray hair or adjusting a perfectly positioned hat. Fusco marveled that Reese seemed ignorant of all these invitations. The guy could get laid ten times before noon and save the leftovers for dinner time, if he would slow down half a step.

Reese seemed to be aiming to get somewhere fast, on a mission. Even though Finch had told Fusco there were no current cases to work on. Reese spoke into the air from time to time which Fusco assumed meant that his boss was in touch. 

Once Reese paused at a street corner and looked directly up at the traffic camera. Fusco thought he saw a faint smirk on the taller man’s face, but he couldn’t be sure since he had only a reflection in a bodega window to go by.

Once he paused at an ATM but didn’t take out any money, just stared at it for a while and then turned on his heel and reversed his course. Fusco had to scramble into a fucking laundromat to escape running into Reese. 

The rambling continued through the afternoon and into the night. Reese was harder to track in the dark, with the black coat looking like every other black coat in the city. Fusco was hungry and hoped Reese was too. They both needed a break. 

When Reese turned into a Korean grocery, Fusco’s stomach growled in appreciation. A snack would be welcome at this point. Even if it was a vegetable. To escape the wind which scattered rubbish at his feet, Fusco paused just inside the entrance to a nail salon across the street. Which would have worked out fine, except one of the Vietnamese girls came out to ask him if he needed a manicure. 

The stench of acetone swirled around her and he wondered how those tiny girls managed to work all day in that stink. The way she looked up at him was so cute he was tempted to take a load off his feet, but damned if Reese didn’t pick that moment to exit the grocery in hot pursuit of some teen age punk in a Yankees jacket. 

Fusco watched the kid head south, arms jerking wildly with the blue satin flapping around him, Reese jogging behind him. Even though the whole chase seemed to unroll in slow motion, both of them were faster than he was, so Fusco figured there was no point in trying to catch up. This is what that geeky phone jockey was good at anyway.

“Finch, your boy is out of sight. Use your fancy tracking system to give me his present location, will ya?”

After a brief silence, Finch pinpointed Reese’s whereabouts, behind an Armenian carpet store five blocks away. “If I thought you were going to lose your quarry so easily, I would have consulted someone with a more diverse skill set, Detective.”

Rather than saying, “Bite me,” like he wanted to, Fusco snapped the phone shut and moved out.

It took him no more than nine minutes to travel the distance. Mardirosian’s window was dark, the loading dock behind it empty. Fusco heard snuffling and wheezing coming from the far side of the dock. As he peered into the shadows, he could make out the boy kneeling on the cement, the oil slick from a rain puddle staining his jeans. Fusco approached him slowly, but didn’t draw his gun. As he got nearer the snuffling turned to curses when the kid saw him. The perp’s arms were pinned behind his back, fastened with handcuffs, whose short chain was looped through the handle of a garbage can lid. The metal against metal made Fusco grit his teeth.

“Where’s your fancy jacket, kid? You let that old man boost it from ya?”

With his chin, the boy indicated the garbage can on the other side of the high dock. Fusco took the jacket out and inspected it for blood or rips. Reese had left it in perfect condition, only the inside out pockets showing he had searched it. 

“I only took a bag of Cheetos and the money that bastard owed me! I worked for five days sweeping out his fucking store and he never paid me, so I took what he owed me plus interest too. Fucking undercover cops! Don’t you got real crimes to solve?”

“Ya know, kid. Until you said that last, I was going to let you go, but now you got me mad. So I’m calling 911 and reporting your ass.” Fusco completed the call for assistance, without giving his name or profession.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes to help you get out of your little fix. And because you were so smart-mouthed, I’m keeping this jacket as a souvenir.” It would be a nice present for Lee to start spring training next month.

Fusco looked again in the garbage can just to be sure Reese hadn’t left any evidence tying him to the scene. Sure enough, his guy’s phone was blinking in the bottom of the can, big as life. As Fusco pocketed the phone, the sirens of an approaching patrol car serenaded his exit from the alley.

Fusco doubled back to the Korean grocery, sure that Reese, that self-righteous do-gooder, would head there to return the stolen money. 

A dark Volvo across the street provided enough shelter for Fusco to watch the store entrance without being detected. He watched Reese shrug his shoulders and extend his hands in front of his body palms out. Fusco could see that his knuckles were reddened and there was a colorful bruise blossoming on his chin. So the kid got in a few good licks after all. The shop owner and his wife were practically levitating off the ground, chattering and waving their hands. After a few minutes of this rigamarole, Reese backed out of the store grimacing, and turned north into the wind.

Fusco hustled behind at a safe distance, debating whether to catch up with the man and return his phone or not. 

After fifteen minutes of setting a brisk pace that left Fusco puffing, Reese abruptly stopped at an Indian restaurant. The yellow letters of the name, Pooja’s, glowed warmly and Fusco could just make out red upholstered booths lining the walls of the tiny establishment. Fusco had never seen Reese take a bite in over twelve months of working together, so he couldn’t say if this was his kind of place, but Reese went in, so it must be. After speaking with the man in front, Reese walked toward the middle of the restaurant and slipped into the shadows, out of sight.

Fortunately for Fusco, the coffee shop opposite Pooja’s offered a few sandwiches, probably leftover from lunch, but good enough to settle his protesting stomach. Fusco took a table in the center of the shop away from the picture window. With no one else in the place, he could look straight across the street and comfortably keep tabs on the booth where he knew Reese was eating.

The ham-and-cheese-on-rye tasted good enough for seconds and the coffee’s effect was perking him up so much he thought of having a chocolate cookie to go along with it.

Returning to his table with the dessert, Fusco glanced at Pooja’s. A woman entered the restaurant and stopped to survey the room. Her stride looked familiar but everything else was all wrong. 

Carter. 

In a dress. 

Were they on a case he didn’t know about? A new number that Finch had assigned to Reese but failed to tell Fusco about? Fusco knew Carter worked cases for Finch and Reese from time to time. She gave them files and shared other intel when they asked for it. Stuff she was better positioned to get than he was anyway. Of course, they tried to hide the collaboration from him, but he had sussed it out months ago from all her hinky antics.

Carter moved to Reese’s booth, taking off her coat as she walked. 

Christ almighty.

A yellow dress like a fucking Easter egg.

Reese stood to meet her, his chest brushing against her dress. Carter reached out her right hand and with two fingers and a thumb she took the measure of the bruise on his chin.

Gently. 

Not a case.

Fusco finished the cookie and got a brownie because he needed to think about this a bit more. He couldn’t see Reese and Carter behind the high enclosure of the red booth. 

Reese’s phone buzzed rudely in his pocket, followed almost immediately by a similar vibration from his own cell.

Fusco took out the two instruments and laid them side by side on the table on the greasy paper plate that had held his sandwich.

There really wasn’t much to debate, all things considered. Fusco slid his own phone inside his coat breast pocket over his heart. Carrying Reese’s phone gingerly, he walked toward the entrance. Fusco paused only a second to toss the contraption through the swinging gate of the waste bin. 

Fusco buttoned his coat against the blustering cold and headed back toward the Korean grocery store. 

Maybe he could still get that manicure if it wasn’t too late.

**Author's Note:**

> A remix of this tale, told from Reese's point of view, is among the vignettes in the story, _Everybody Comes to Pooja's_. The story of the yellow dress is examined in greater detail in _The Most Beautiful Dress in the World_.


End file.
